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They gathered on the pavement before the Keeble residence, and Penelope turned to Stokes.

“Keeble has a footman acting as butler, and at this hour, the chances are that, like Sir Ulysses, Keeble will be in his study and will choose to see us there. Might I suggest that you and Barnaby have the footman take you to see Keeble while Jordan and I”—she included Jordan with a glance—“go to the kitchen and question the staff?”

Stokes regarded her with interest. “You think the staff know something useful.”

“I think they’ll tell us where Keeble was on Tuesday morning without any roundaboutation,” Penelope stated. “And if we want a corroborated alibi for the man, then his staff are likely our best source.”

“I agree,” Barnaby said. “So we’ll tackle Keeble while you interview his staff.” He grinned at Stokes. “Seems a sensible division of labor.”

Stokes grunted in agreement and led the way through the gate to Keeble’s front door.

As Penelope had predicted, the door was opened by the footman she and Barnaby had encountered before.

The footman remembered them and, after Stokes had introduced himself, admitted their party to the house.

He left them in the drawing room while he informed his master of their presence.

Penelope sat on the sofa, but the men remained standing as Stokes and Jordan looked around curiously.

Then the footman returned, intending to show them to the study where Keeble awaited them.

Penelope smiled at the footman. “You may take the inspector and Mr. Adair through to Mr. Keeble, then please join me and Mr. Draper in the kitchen. We have a few questions for the staff before joining the gathering in the study.”

Her confident delivery—that of a hostess well-accustomed to managing staff—had the footman falling in with her directives without hesitation. He paused only to show her the way to the kitchen before leading Stokes and Barnaby to Keeble.

Penelope waited until the door to the study shut, then walked quickly down the corridor to the kitchen.

Amused and curious, Jordan followed at her heels.

They walked through the archway that gave onto the kitchen to discover a maid, a tweeny, and an older woman who was clearly the cook standing about a central deal table. The three were engaged in preparing the evening meal, but froze at the sight of the unexpected intruders.

Penelope smiled understandingly. “My husband and I called yesterday as part of an ongoing police investigation. We simply have a few questions we believe you can assist us with. This won’t take much of your time.”

Jordan stepped aside as the footman returned, eager curiosity in his face. He nodded respectfully to Penelope. “Ma’am. You said you have questions for us?”

“Just a few simple ones.” She glanced at the cook, maid, and tweeny. “Is this the entire staff?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The cook wiped her hands on her apron. “Now Mr. Josh has gone to live with his friends, there’s only the master to see to, so we manage well enough.”

“I see. Well, that should make this easy.” Penelope glanced at the footman.

“Inspector Stokes, who together with my husband is currently speaking with your master, and myself and Mr. Draper here are trying to establish where Mr. Keeble was last Tuesday morning, during the hour between seven-thirty and eight-thirty.”

With a reassuring smile, Penelope went on, “You see, asking Mr. Keeble for his movements is one thing, but of course, what he says cannot be taken as proof. For that, we need the testimony of others, which is why we’ve come to speak with you.

So”—she looked around brightly—“what are your recollections of what your master did last Tuesday morning?”

The cook frowned, then hesitantly offered, “Well, I serve breakfast at a quarter of seven. He likes it early—always has.”

Penelope nodded encouragingly. “So at seven or so, he was seated at the breakfast table?”

Both maid and footman nodded.

“Very well,” Penelope said. “At what time did he rise from the table?”

The footman’s face cleared, and he turned to the maid and cook.

“Tuesday last—that was the morning he went out early.” He looked at Penelope.

“Quite took me by surprise, but he sent me to fetch his hat and coat and left at barely seven-thirty.” Suddenly looking conscious, the footman added, “I’m sure of the time because it was so odd for him to go out at that hour that I checked the clock in the hall. ”

“Excellent,” Penelope said.

“So he doesn’t usually go out in the morning?” Jordan asked.

“Not until after eleven, normally,” the cook stated.

“I can’t think of when he last left the house before ten,” the maid added.

“Did he happen to mention what caused him to leave so unexpectedly?” Penelope asked. “Did he drop a hint of where he was going or why or what he planned to do?”

Again, the four shook their heads.

“Not one to share his business with the staff,” the footman said, “if you know what I mean.”

Penelope inclined her head. She and Jordan exchanged a glance, then Penelope turned to the staff. “Thank you. You’ve been quite a help.” She looked at the footman. “I believe it’s time Mr. Draper and I joined the discussion in the study.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The footman half bowed, turned, and led her and Jordan from the kitchen.

On reaching the study, the footman opened the door, announced Penelope and Jordan, and stood back to allow them to enter.

She and Jordan walked into the study, and it was plain from the look on Keeble’s face that their arrival had caused him to startle and stumble and break off whatever he’d been saying.

Then the three gentlemen got to their feet, Keeble almost springing upright.

The footman, perhaps wisely, had slipped out of the room and drawn the door closed.

Penelope went forward, a calm smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Keeble. We meet again. Mr. Draper and I have just been securing corroboration of your whereabouts from your staff.”

Jordan set a chair for her beside the one Barnaby had occupied, and she sat, allowing the gentlemen to resume their seats. Once they had, she turned to Barnaby and Stokes and inquired, “So, have you gentlemen established where Mr. Keeble was on Tuesday morning?”

Evenly, Stokes replied, “Mr. Keeble has assured us that, as usual, he remained at home for the entire morning.”

Penelope widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise and turned her gaze on Keeble. “That’s strange…”

Keeble all but squirmed, then he cleared his throat and focused on Stokes. “Actually, Inspector, now I think of it, I believe Tuesday morning might have been the morning on which I felt rather queasy, and I went out for a brief walk to clear my head.”

“Is that so?” Stokes responded. “So you weren’t here between seven-thirty and eight-thirty?”

“Not in the house, no.” Keeble hurried to assure them, “But I was nearby.”

“Oh?” Barnaby said. “Where did your walk take you?”

Now he’d made his confession, Keeble seemed to calm. “Not far at all—just around the square. I sat on one of the benches on the other side of the church, on the south side of the square, and when, eventually, I felt rather better, I came home.”

Stokes had been taking notes. “I see.” He looked at Keeble. “Is there anyone—a neighbor or acquaintance—with whom you spoke while you were out?”

Keeble frowned, then grimaced and shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to anything beyond my stomach.”

Stokes glanced at Barnaby and Penelope, then looked at Jordan.

When all three looked back and said nothing, Stokes returned his gaze to Keeble and nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Keeble.” Stokes stood and tucked his notebook away as the others got to their feet.

“At the moment, I think that’s all we need to know. ”

Keeble fussily assured them that he was only too happy to help, then ushered them out of his study and to and through the front door.

As the door shut behind them and they strolled up the short path to the pavement, Barnaby murmured, “He was so very happy that we were leaving.”

Penelope glanced at the house. “He was very relieved to see the back of us.”

“Indeed.” Stokes halted on the pavement and looked at Penelope and Jordan. “So what did the staff have to say?”

“They seemed entirely straightforward in answering our questions,” Penelope stated.

“And they were very surprised that, on Tuesday last, Keeble left the breakfast table at close to seven-thirty, called for his hat and coat, and quit the house. He doesn’t normally walk in the mornings, not like Sir Ulysses, so they were taken aback when he unexpectedly up and left. ”

“Note,” Jordan said, “the mention of hat and coat. He was definitely wearing both when he left. No saying if they’re the right sort, but we at least know that much.”

Barnaby grimaced and glanced around their circle. “We need to be careful about leaping to conclusions.”

Stokes nodded. “At this point, based on the facts as we know them, either Sir Ulysses or Keeble could be our man. Neither has an alibi for the time of Cardwell’s murder, so logically, both must remain on our list.”

Jordan glanced at the other three. “But only Keeble tried to hide his lack of an alibi. Sir Ulysses was reluctant to tell us, but he didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t out of the house, ambling, at the critical time.

” He looked from Penelope to Stokes. “Sir Ulysses was honest about where he went, while Keeble tried to dissemble.”

Stokes pulled a wry face. “Sadly, we’ve had too many cases where, when faced with an apparently straightforward question, the innocent dissemble, and more often than not, it’s for some reason entirely unconnected with the case.”

“And,” Barnaby added, “all too often, the guilty appear brazenly innocent.”

Penelope had been staring at the pavement. She raised her head and looked at Barnaby. “Perhaps you should put your lads onto finding sightings of Keeble, as well.”

Barnaby nodded. “I’ll do that. There’s no saying what they might turn up.

” He looked northeastward toward the busy intersection where Pentonville Road met City Road.

“I should be able to find some of the crew nearby.” He looked at the others.

“Why don’t you head back to Albemarle Street?

I’ll see who I can find to get the word out that we need sightings of Sir Ulysses and also Keeble on Tuesday morning, then I’ll join you there. ”

The other three agreed, and while they piled into the waiting carriage, Barnaby slid his hands into his trouser pockets and, eyes scanning the streets for any likely lads, strolled off toward City Road.